Not Yet
by aicornduong
Summary: Bro had so much fight in him that he didn't get to use. It's becoming too much. Something has to be done. Something IS done. But not him. Implied Stridercest.


**I apologize to the people who have been waiting for an update to the Alternative. I've lost my mojo for the time being and it's been replaced with angsty stuff. I have the next chapter done and I'll upload it soon. (Within the next two weeks) I've been pretty unbelievably busy, but I still have time for a few things here and there. I'm probably going to be posting some BroxDave, Sollux x Karkat things to keep you busy and to vent my feelings.**

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><p>"You're fired. That was your last chance."<p>

"That was my _only_ chance! You're firing me for something I didn't even do! What kind of fucking chance are you giving me?"

"A chance that you don't have anymore."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey. Watch it. If you dare lay a hand on me, I'll make sure you're never working in this town again."

"You-! _Fuck_ you!"

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

A loud bang, crash, and the sound of splintering wood.

"What door? See ya, bitch."

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><p>Bro kicked the door down and walked out with pride that would put any peacock to shame. Fuck the police, he was the shit. He didn't give a damn about losing his job, but he did care about the income that would be cut because of it. He couldn't go around beating the crap out of people who pissed him off.<p>

Not when Dave needed him.

He really wanted to give that guy what he deserved, but he knew better. That guy could really deprive him of any future potential job in Houston. Losing one job was one thing, but never getting another one was a disaster.

But now Bro was pissed as Hell. He felt destructive. He felt violent.

He roughly unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped in and slammed the door behind him, shaking the notes plastered onto its inside. He grabbed some shitty ninja stars from the coffee table and pitched them with expert precision, spinning at optimum speed, into the fridge, the metal weapons embedding themselves easily into the steel of the door as if it was a block of wood.

God, that made him feel better. But he was still so damned _pissed._

Bro flashed into the kitchen and used a sword sheath to launch the weapon from its covering as he whipped it, spearing several Smuppets – ones he dropped from the attic – into the wall.

It was all he could do. Vent. Just vent.

He threw the sheath at the cupboard, sending it straight through the wooden door and into the ceramic cups, which made a crash upon impact, shards of the broken ware exploding out of the hole. Immediately afterwards, he marched up to the nightstand by the door and flipped it skywards, sending the glass vase smashing into the ceiling and the stand flying into the wall with its leg broken off from contact with the ceiling as well.

All the power in his hands and he couldn't do shit about the injustice in the world. So much _shit._

Grabbing another sword from the kitchen wall he flicked his elbow downward with it still in hand, the crouched to spring towards the ceiling fan and slashing it down, cutting each of the blades into diamonds before the set hit the floor. Bro twisted and landed in a kneeling position, ready to destroy the pantry, when a movement caught his attention in the reflection of his shades.

It was Dave. Red eyes watery, unable to understand the destruction, shades in small hands that shook, scared of the havoc wrought by his guardian, a light pink heart at the front of his shirt the only protection he had, making him vulnerable to what he didn't know, a closed set of lips fearful of asking, of knowing _why_.

Every tensed muscle in his body immediately relaxed and he dropped the sword, flashing to Dave and sweeping him up in an embrace. Why was he breaking things? What was he doing? He had to take care of Dave. And he was scaring him. It was one, heartbreaking, thing to be forced to leave him alone while he worked, but it was _beyond_ painful to know that he was the one to frighten his little brother. He was supposed to take his frights _away_.

"Don't cry, Dave. It's okay, I'm sorry," he muttered, hugging his ward tightly. "Don't cry, don't cry."

"W-why are you breaking things, Bro?" Dave asked, returning the hug with his small arms. Bro could feel some tears seeping into the sleeve of his shoulder.

"I don't know, I really don't, little man. But if it scares you, I'll stop. Right away." He felt like a failure of a guardian. "I promise, I'm not mad at you or anything, it's just me. I was mad at myself."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Bro."

Bro kissed the top of Dave's forehead, and picking him up. His triangular shades had slipped down his nose and now he was eye-to-eye with him, their matching irises gleaming. He wiped a tear from Dave's eye and smiled at him, causing him to smile in return. His brother was too cute. He couldn't risk destroying Dave's childhood just because his emotions went out of whack.

"I won't do it again," Bro promised. "I won't be bad ever again."

Dave laughed. "You're always bad, Bro."

"Oh really?" Bro asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"You're badass!" answered Dave. "But you'll never be a bad guy. If you were, you can't love me."

This time, it was Bro that laughed. "I'll _always_ love you, Dave. No matter what I say, no matter what I do." He loved being cheesy, but it was true. He loved his little brother 'til death. Any harm to him would be over his dead body, and he'd never make the same mistake again.

"I love you too, Bro," Dave replied, kissing him. Bro was actually a bit surprised when their lips made contact, but he shrugged it off and smiled. Dave couldn't possibly know the difference between one on the cheek and another on the lips.

"Okay, okay, just not in public, little man," Bro chuckled. But it quickly became somber when he remembered what had preceded his return home. "Listen, Dave. Can I ask you to do something for me?"

Dave brought his lips downward, probably into the best poker face Bro had ever seen him make without his shades. "It depends."

Bro couldn't help it. He laughed again. He carried Dave to the couch and plopped down with him on his lap. "You're good, lil' bro. Real good. But let's be serious for a minute. I need you to be brave for me, okay?"

Dave nodded. "No problem."

"I just lost my job, so it might be hard until I can get a new one and get another paycheck, okay?"

Dave nodded again, understanding. "So no apple juice until then?"

"Hmm… It depends. We'll probably still have apple juice, but we're going to be having a lot of soup or cheap shit and a lot less TV."

"Okay. I don't watch TV a lot anyway."

Bro ruffled his hair with a smile, then picked him up to set beside him on the couch before finding the remote and turning on the TV.

"I guess that's a good thing, but let's enjoy it while we can."

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><p>Bro packed his equipment and shut them in their cases within the timespan of a minute, picking up his cup of coffee and taking a slow sip from it as if he hadn't just done all that heavy lifting in such record time. It took years of practice, six to be exact, to perfect his art, and two more to gain his immense fame. He and Dave and toughed it out, and now both of them had the easy life.<p>

The club's workers applauded his feat and he merely raised his cup slightly and dipped his head.

"Amazing! No wonder everybody wants you!"

Another wordless reply, this time, just a plain dip of the head. Good to be modest, good to save his voice for performances. It made it rare and that much more expensive.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Bro glanced to the direction of the person who spoke, not moving his head, but just his hidden eyes, to maintain the image that he had ignored them. It was that motherfucker who fired him so many years ago.

He walked up to the man and smiled at him, extending his free hand for a shake. The guy reached out to shake it. Bro took him by the wrist and flipped him over, slamming him into the floor hard enough to immobilize him and fast enough to break the wrist he held. He smashed the heel of steel-toed boot into the guy's face and took another peaceful sip of his coffee, which had not lost a single drop. But the man could see the death-glare behind the shades reserved only for him. Everything happened so fast, nobody else knew what happened. Bro was just suddenly standing next to a bleeding guy.

But Bro's victim knew what happened. Bro threw his voice down at the man.

"That's for making Dave suffer."

Everybody thought that the man was crazy and talking to himself.

Bro turned the owner of the club, who came down in a rush, asking him what happened. Bro jerked his thumb at the guy and then drew his thumb across his neck in a cutting motion. The owner glared at the guy on the floor, trying to nurse his bleeding nose.

"You're never working in this town again!"

Bro smiled, his lips tilting upward around his cup as he took another sip. Justice had been served. Now it was time to go home and make out with his little brother.


End file.
